


take your rest to the stars and those places unseen

by jazzfic



Category: Star Trek: Picard
Genre: A Slight Bedroom Farce, Crew as Family, F/F, F/M, Gen, POV Multiple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25913710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazzfic/pseuds/jazzfic
Summary: The crew of La Sirena might indeed make perfect houseguests, if they could just for one moment stop being themselves.
Relationships: Agnes Jurati/Cristóbal Rios, Raffi Musiker/Seven of Nine
Comments: 42
Kudos: 52





	1. Laris observes absences

**Author's Note:**

> This has taken me forever, and I amused myself greatly while wondering if it's more fun writing a trek fic set on solid ground than the humdrum of space. Gosh, but I use a lot of italics.

_I’m bringing them to the chateau._

The hellos came later. Not as if he’d forgotten them, Laris allowed, perhaps more generously than she should have. But as if they were an optional nicety. It wasn’t like she’d been missing him since... oh, what did it matter. Look at him, she thought, that exuberance. Here it was as if he were speaking to her from a twinkling sun, not the plain deck of that little freighter, touched into Earth’s orbit some few hours past.

_I’m bringing them to the chateau, Laris, just one night, some good food and respite before we set out again. I think they need it._ There followed several minutes of conversational housekeeping (how many rooms needed making up? The admiral mentioned six guests, though opined – a little awkwardly – how that didn’t perhaps necessitate six rooms; ‘I’m sure it’s all delightfully complicated,’ Laris had assured him, wondering how she was managing to be the diplomatic one here), before Picard signed off with a curt nod. 

_They_ , she thought. He wasn’t thinking of himself. 

She sat for a long moment after this, listening to the dusk settle through the half-opened shutters. She supposed words to what had happened in the intervening months would have to wait until there was no longer a commlink between them. Despite the weariness Laris noted in his voice, there was a real light in the man’s eye again, something that had been absent for a long time. 

“Well... we have guests,” she said later, to the bent back of Zhaban. Even though the day was over he was still stuck in maintenance mode, this time tending to the hinges of one of the linen draws. They were always coming apart, like so many things in this vast, tired place. The crumbling court of La Barre. She sighed and smiled. “His master returns, great schemes aloft.” 

Zhaban hummed something in response that sounded appreciative, mostly. She rested a hand on his shoulder in agreement before turning to bed.

It was only in the small hours of the next day that Laris recalled another thing missing from their conversation. For the first time she could think of, Jean-Luc Picard had not called this place home.


	2. Elnor counts to one

Fewer sounds were more satisfying than fallen leaves underfoot. They walked in dappled light beneath a tunnel of trees, the companionable silence broken only by Picard pointing out features of the landscape in between repeated instructions to ‘smell that glorious air’. This, of course, was ignored by everyone but Elnor, who proceeded to breathe deeply thorough his nose in increasingly rapid draws until a wave of dizziness came over him and he stumbled on a tree root. Dr Jurati stopped to look him over. “Maybe not so much with the super fast inhaling, okay?” she observed kindly, before leaving to rejoin Captain Rios, whose hand she had been surreptitiously holding as they’d made their way along the path. Elnor wondered, not for the first time, if any of them realised how he noticed these things, noticed everything, how remarkably pointless it was to hide. He was beginning to despair at the inconsistencies of these humans.

He slipped back into the admiral’s shadow, not looking up again until they reached the end of the avenue. There, set against the sprawling vineyards, was their destination.

After a suitably reverent silence Raffi made a noise in her throat, which Elnor took to mean she was little to nil impressed. “And thus the weary party arrived,” she said, “to be met at the great gates... locked.” She turned to Picard. “Did you purposely set those beam in co-ordinates a cool mile or two from the front door, JL, just so we’d get this grand, imposing view?” At Picard’s silence she rolled her eyes. “I knew it.”

“Not in the slightest. I’m sure the walk did us all good.” Picard tapped the panel by the gate. “Zhaban, we’re here.”

“ _We see you. Welcome back, Admiral._ ”

There was a click and the gates drew open, scraping at the loose gravel with an aching slowness. Raffi merely shook her head and laughed. 

They stepped onto the chateau grounds.

A wind had by now caught the fallen leaves and set them dancing across the path. The sound they made filled Elnor’s ears like a peaceful, swirling chime, but when it passed he picked up the addition of another: a distant, one note tone, rough and staccato. Repeating. 

And with it a dark shape, moving at speed towards them.

He stared, hand raised and hovering at his sword. “Is that--” 

The dog (for he was sure it was a dog) reached them with a skidding stop and immediately became still, trembling very slightly as it took in the new faces. Trembling because it yearned to turn into a frenzy of tongue and huffing gasps around its master’s legs, but hesitant to do so until given the order. Elnor saw at once that they shared the same job. They were both there to protect Picard. He suspected their posing any real danger would have rendered them as folly to the animal’s mercy. _Question, always, until trust is satisfied_ , Elnor thought. Some of his crew-mates (well, all of them) would do well to look to this animal and improve upon their own worst impulses.

So would he, too, come to that. 

He was Qowat Milat, and he was learning lessons from a domesticated pet. Life would never stop being complicated.

“This,” said Picard, in a sweeping tone of enough import to make it sound as if he was introducing a commanding officer, “is Number One. Say hello, everyone.”

Elnor watched, curious to see how the others would perform this task before taking part in introductions himself. Raffi could barely stop rolling her eyes at the picture Picard made with the bright-eyed animal, but she gave it a thump on its flank all the same, her expression soft. Seven and beast regarded each other as two hardened colleagues on a battlefield, sparsely and with little movement, though with begrudging respect. 

Soji knelt and petted it soothingly, righting the lay of its coat where Raffi had disrupted it. Agnes, meanwhile, squeaked when it leapt at her knees, but almost in the same breath and with a wide smile, encouraged Rios to pat its shiny, square head. 

“He likes you,” said Elnor, amazed at the spectacle. “He knows all of you, immediately. Absolute Candour, see?”

With open hands and wagging tail, the dog and Elnor completed the solemn round of greeting, then with a single bark, it turned and set off, leading the way.

“That’s quite true.” Picard looked at him carefully. “And you know, I named him for a great friend who might very well tell me the same thing. Thought I suspect with somewhat more colourful language.”


	3. Agnes experiments with excesses

There were – she counted – five, no six, bottles of wine on the table. Agnes could have sworn they were slowly multiplying, like a strange, bottle-shaped entourage of tribbles. That would have given the meal an exciting twist. Not that it had been lacking; she had already climbed the culinary hill that was Mont Chateau Picard, so to speak, and was fast on a downward slope to an extremely pleasant food coma. The last licks of stew was all that remained on the plate in front of her, and she’d already consumed at least a month’s portion of saturated fats in the form of good cold butter, spread onto perhaps the tastiest bread she’d had in... well, a long time. Definitely not the sort to come out of a replicator, that was for sure. 

The night was too cool to eat outside, as pretty as the outdoor amenities had looked in the daylight. Instead they were in a dining room where a fire crackled and laughter prevailed. 

There were nine of them altogether, seated at the long table. The admiral at the head, at his right, Soji, and his left, Raffi. Next to Raffi sat Seven, then Elnor and Laris. Agnes had of course already met Laris and her partner Zhaban, keepers of this great home; back then felt like another life, the blindness with which she had followed Picard at Oh’s beckoning she was certain still clouded their impression of her. All this she had yet to broach, though she was aware that the gap between the charcuterie and the soup was maybe not best time to reminisce on how it had all been a lie. 

They knew, of course. The even look that Laris had given her after a slightly awkward welcome, accompanied with a wave of empathy that made Agnes blush with horror, had almost reduced her to tears. She would still be out in the vines looking for some place to hide her embarrassment if that had actually happened.

Much better, she decided, to eat instead.

Zhaban sat opposite Laris, with Cris on his left. Those two had immediately bonded over the job of being at the behest of one of Starfleet’s finest, and had fallen into an easy conversation revolved around poking fun at their charge. Agnes, nestled in between that particular talk, and another slightly more philosophical one on her left between Soji and Picard, reached for her glass. She nudged Cris and he passed over a jug of water, smiling a little. On the other side of the table, Raffi was progressing similarly; Agnes had already noticed Cris’s eyes moving to observe his friend at intervals during the meal, and every time it happened she felt a wave of fondness swirl at her chest. 

(Fondness, warmth, a small impossible happiness. Love, maybe, who really knew. Definitely not something that needed an overwhelming numbness of feeling to spark into action, not any more. And god knows she had little urge to tackle drunken encounters. No, she’d take the nice, very much aware of one’s surroundings version for now and for maybe always, thank you. The one that was good and plentiful, the one that was so very, very generous... 

Raffi made a jab at Picard, earning a wry expression from Seven next to her, which caused Elnor to pipe up with something frank and confused and typically Elnor, and Agnes laughed and slipped her hand beneath the table, heat flickering inside when she felt Cris do the same. 

_Well..._ She took a long drink, thoughts of very nice things making her smile into the glass. One could easily find ways to other excesses.) 

The clink of a fork against glass interrupted the chatter. There was a beat as Picard surveyed the table, then he cleared his throat. “Now, I am aware that I may have a slight reputation for making speeches.”

“You don’t say,” murmured Raffi. 

“And goodness knows even if I were to launch into one less rambling than this, I know none of you would pay me any heed whatsoever.” Picard’s eyes crinkled as he smiled, already lost in the oratory. “That is not to say you haven’t any sense between you, because I’m quite certain if I said _due north it is_ , you would at least question my sense of direction before following your own better compass...”

At this Cris leaned over, whispering, “Except I’m pretty sure I’ve blindly followed his orders, probably several times now.”

Agnes nodded sagely as Picard droned on. “You can take the man out of Starfleet--” she began.

“But you can’t take Starfleet out of the wild, ragtag bunch of dropouts, living it up on the edge, right?”

She grinned and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

This time Raffi’s voice chimed out over the table. “I’m sorry, JL, is there a point you’re getting at, sometime, oh I don’t know, this century? The barrels are ageing faster than you.”

Picard paused. Agnes could see the thoughts turning over, and the true, familiar way he reacted to Raffi’s teasing told her in an instant every thing that sat in the path of their shared history, both good and bad, to make the appreciation that sang in his measured words now so absolute that to not believe them would be practically an insult. Like standing on solid ground while flying through trans-warp conduits, trusting that they would come through at the end intact, to a world opened up just that little bit more.

“What I mean to say, is something you’ve heard from me turned over and over again of late, much like one of Rios’s broken records, a tiresome skip for which I do not apologise, because it’s this: thank you. Thank you for getting us here and getting Soji here, to a federation where she – and her kind, and more, lest that more include a new, old man such as this one – are boundless once again.” Picard raised his glass. “Thank you. And take your rest, for you have earned it.”

“Until tomorrow,” added Raffi. 

Picard nodded. “Until tomorrow.”

Murmurs of agreement hummed out at this, several glasses raised, several more taken to drink. At the end of the table, Laris brushed a hand to her eye before tucking a curl aside and getting up with a notion to clearing the table. It was a quick nothing, but Agnes saw it.

Earned was not forgiveness, she knew that. It never would be. It was something far more generous – you are capable, and I trust you to take it.

At the fireplace a log turned over, breaking the quiet spell which had fallen, and talk filled the room again, laughter and welcome groans at a suggestion of dessert. To Agnes it was a sound like foundations settling, an assurance that it would follow wherever they went, a fixed axis, this centrifuge of home. She rested her head against Cris, breathing in the warmth of him, and played with the fork against the rim of her plate until it was taken away.


	4. Raffi fights to be still

Immediately after the last of the dishes were scraped clean Raffi jumped to her feet and volunteered for scrubber duty, trailing after Laris into the kitchen with a pile of dessert spoons in hand. The meal, nice as it was, had left her in a pensive mood which she didn’t much like, and the hope of gleaning a little hard intelligence (that is to say, juicy gossip) about her favourite grizzled retiree, especially if it came from the civilian version of a long serving number one, was too tempting to pass up. 

Unfortunately that deep dive turned out to be a mostly deep, dead end.

“I don’t want to disappoint, but I don’t much know if I can fill in the gaps,” said Laris in her soft voice. “The man has built a wall around himself over the course of many years, and it crumbles in equal measure to all of us, question it as we might.” Whatever that meant.

So Raffi did her duty then left the kitchen, following the sound of chatter down a short corridor into a living room. One of multiples, presumably. This one managed to be both grand and intimate, a combination she wasn’t completely sure she liked. Still, it was hellishly cozy 

At one end Agnes had claimed an old armchair upholstered in a rich maroon, angled so close to the fire as to almost be on top of it. Feet tucked underneath her, she had a book open and was nose deep in its pages, muttering softly to herself. She noticed Raffi hovering and looked up.

“Rousseau,” she said, and then in whisper, as if disclosing a great secret, “my French is terrible.”

Nearby on a table Elnor and Soji had spread out a board and were dealing out small square tokens to one another. Raffi wandered over and peered at it.

“It’s called Scrabble,” said Soji. 

“These are Federation Standard.” Elnor studied the letters with a frown. He looked about the room, to where Picard was standing with his hands in his pockets. “You don’t have a Romulan version?”

“Unfortunately not. They don’t make that old game any more, and I don’t think there even exists a replicator pattern for one, at least none that I know of. You will have to make do, Elnor.”

“But it’s such a limiting vocabulary...” 

Not wanting to get caught in the rumblings of a teenage tantrum before it erupted, Raffi moved on quickly. She covered all points of the room as casually as she could, peeking over the backs of armchairs and various sofas. After about three turns of this fairly unsubtle loop Picard finally showed some pity on her and nodded to the window, which looked out to the small inner courtyard. 

Raffi followed his gaze and sighed. 

“Thanks, JL.” 

Outside the air was still and sharply cold. She stepped across the pavement to where a set of lights had been strung up, illuminating a small arrangement of furniture, wherein two heads, one dark and one honey gold, were reclined in an overtly relaxed state. 

“What is this, an old man’s club?” Raffi waved her way through the haze of smoke. “It’s freezing out here.” She stamped her feet to warm up and pointed at Rios. “Hey, that girl of yours is stumbling over French philosophers about two inches away from an open flame. You need to go rescue her before she gets all hot and bothered.” Pausing for good effect, she folded her arms and dropped her voice to a tease. “Unless, you know, that’s the sort of thing you’re into.” 

Rios stared up at her with an innocent expression, then dragged the last of his cigar with equal ploy, eyes flickering with amusement. “What I’m into... stays between me and _le feu_ , Raf.”

“Old man’s club rules,” agreed Seven, from the opposite chair. He tipped his cigar and they grinned in unison.

Raffi rolled her eyes. She smacked Rios on the shoulder and he stood up, departing with a slight bow. 

“And you can’t exactly talk, either, sweetcheeks,” she said, slumping into the other half of the wicker twinseat. She flicked an irritated finger against Seven’s glass. “You and your jetfuel here, strong enough to light up the inside of a damn warp coil.”

Seven immediately put the drink down. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be...”

Raffi chuckled sadly, curling her fingers around a lock of hair falling over Seven’s shoulder. “You’re okay. It’s okay. Really.” She focused back on the window. Elnor and Soji were now hunched over the game board, as strung out and tensely motionless as two cats eyeing each other on a ledge. Across the room she could see Agnes’s blonde head peep around the armchair, her soft gaze angled up to Rios. She said something and he immediately smiled. Raffi didn’t need any secret spy insight into that exchange, bordering as it was on irritatingly cute. She looked away. “Honestly, though. What were you and captain inscrutable knocking heads about out here, anyway?” 

“Oh, this and that.” Seven shrugged. “Nothing important. He’s straight up. Easy to talk to.”

“Rios? Easy to talk to? I’ve gone whole missions with the guy and barely strung together five sentences. If you’re after a deep conversation you’re better off with his holograms.”

There was a pause as Seven looked at her evenly. Her voice was soft. “You don’t mean that.”

“No, I don’t mean that.”

“You two are just different, you communicate in silences.”

“As opposed to what we do? Which is what, semaphores?”

Seven sat up. “What’s wrong?” she asked. Her fingers threaded through Raffi’s. “Is is Picard?”

“No... well, yes.” Raffi sighed. “I mean, I know he brought us here because he thinks we need the R and R, and I’m not arguing against that. I like a good, relaxing lounge in dusty opulence as much as the next Starfleet boot-out whose only current earth residence is a shack in the desert. I worry about him, though. I know we’re all sticking together for the short term, at least. But what follows?”

“You don’t like looking far ahead?”

“Not so much.” She gave a short laugh, hating how bitter it felt in her throat. “Not so much with looking back, either.”

Raffi closed her eyes. For a long moment she was still, then it came, and she felt her body shake. How easy it would be to slip, she thought. How goddamn easy. She felt an overwhelming tiredness, as if she’d spent the whole day just fighting the waves of emotion from sweeping up and washing her resistance away. “I just want to... rest,” she said. 

“Oh, babe.”

“I want to rest, to not worry about JL, about you, about the next great big mess we’re going to somehow find ourselves in the middle of, one that’s going to make fighting the whole secret Romulan spy network feel like a tussle over a lunch order.”

Seven took her hands, clutching them with enough force to make Raffi sit up. “What if I told you it’s okay not to, then?”

“I’d say you’re dreaming,” Raffi said, wiping a hand over her eyes.

“Okay. What if I told you that’s not going to stop, but it’s going to be easier. You’re going to share that worry and you’re going to turn it around and make something of it.”

“I’d still say you’re dreaming, and it’s maybe bordering on delusional... but I kinda want in.”

Seven pressed her hands over Raffi’s curls. They smiled at one another. In the quiet, listening to the stillness of the night, Raffi breathed deeply until the shaking turned to a tremor. 

A noise from the doorway made her turn. She focused on the tall figure standing there, illuminated by the light inside. With a wet sniff to wake the dogs, real or not, Raffi sat up straight and wiped her eyes.

“Hey, kiddo, what’s going on?”

Elnor made his way outside. “Why are you sitting out here in the cold?” he asked, rubbing his hands as he approached them.

She aimed a pointed look at Seven. “Yes, my darling, my sweet, thorny rose, why exactly are we sitting out here in the cold, still?” When no answer came beyond a delicately arched Borg implant, Raffi hid a sigh, and made herself smile. 

“Soji and I have arrived at a deadlock over a proper noun,” said Elnor. “We need an arbitrator.” 

“Can’t you ask the doc?”

“She went to bed.”

“Um. Rios?”

“Also to bed. The same one, I am guessing, judging from the way they--”

Raffi made a strangled noise and flapped her hands. She felt Seven chuckling silently beside her. “Well, what about Picard? He loves words. All the words that ever worded. The wordier the better.”

A resigned look crossed Elnor’s face, suggesting he’d come prepared for this exact exchange but was still disappointed in having to go through it. “Once Dr Jurati and Captain Rios left the room Admiral Picard claimed the chair by the fireplace, declaring his intention to enlighten us all by reading out loud from the big French book. He nodded off after one minute.” When Raffi took a breath to speak he hastily added, “I tried asking the dog but a few hours’ observation of its vocal cues and tail swishing is not nearly enough to be able to translate. Zhaban and Laris are someplace I don’t know. It’s a big house, Ms Musiker.”

“That it is,” said Seven. She squeezed Raffi’s fingers gently, and looked at Elnor. “Well. I guess we’re all yours, then.” 

Elnor beamed. 

“Come on.” Seven breathed low by her ear, the barest touch of her lips against her skin. Her fingers slipped into the gap where Raffi’s shirt met her waist. “Let’s go warm up, okay?”

Raffi let out a long breath and allowed herself be pulled upright. She stood still for a moment, tensing her muscles before letting go. They followed the Romulan inside.


	5. Rios navigates and negotiates

It took less than five minutes of the musings of society and nature being read aloud in broken French before Rios realised that, actually, he wasn’t all that interested in what some long dead man of the Enlightenment had to say. The old him might have been shocked at this attitude, pointing at the tomes in his meagre collection on La Sirena, a bland reminder of all that time he’d spent absorbed in matters existential. An accusation Rios was happy to refute. It wasn’t as if he was suddenly rejecting everything now. He was still a self-confessed grump with the door firmly jammed on the lid of all things past and terrible, but after so many years of existing in the echo chamber of his own carefully curated solitude, he was simply ready to step outside of it, for once, to be warmed by the light. 

That was his argument, at least. A good part of him would shrug and admit that it had a lot to do with who, exactly, he was listening to. 

Once he’d left Seven and Raffi in the loveseat outside – to talk, or not talk, or whatever spun their wheels, Rios knew his business and when to leave it – he came back in to hover by Agnes’s armchair. For a while he leaned against the mantlepiece, posture straight and one leg cocked by the fire, but he soon got bored of recreating an eighteenth century portrait so he dragged over another high-backed and overly plush monstrosity and sat there instead. He became lulled to the sound as she pattered over the archaic stylings in a sweet but rather flat accent. Rios was good with languages and wanted to tease. He kept quiet, though. She was allowing him to listen, that was all she was asking him to do. 

If only a simple thing could be so easy.

It had taken him a while to stop, and honestly, he wasn’t sure yet if he had. There was the ship, the endless everything that needed doing. Those damned holograms and their relentless pursuit in collective coddling. There was the horizon he couldn’t see. Raffi he knew was feeling the same way; they were cut identical, shared the same hesitations and misgivings. He, of course, didn’t have that history with Picard, but he knew broken lines attracted one another as people did, and he truly believed a little mending wouldn’t hurt. He could only try. 

Yesterday, before beaming down, the admiral had gathered them at La Sirena’s transporter pad, claiming the need to say a few words. Like good little children they’d stood in a line and waited. Rios, recognising the look on the man’s face from having given variations of the same speech many times himself to green cadets on their first rostered day off at a new and shiny starbase, had felt a moment of deja-vu so sudden that he would’ve slammed the activate himself if it weren’t for the look Emmet gave him from his position at the controls, hunched over as if nursing a hangover as he waited to beam them down. _Now, people, I want you to rest and enjoy yourselves, I want you to take care..._ Rios had done odd things to appease a client in the past, but being doled out officially sanctioned fun was something new. 

Was Picard even his client anymore? he wondered. It was debatable.

He watched Agnes blow a lock of hair away from her face, lost in concentration as she tried to keep her eyes in place in the sea of tiny print. Her feet and ankles were bare with one foot tucked away while the other swung back and forth. At each pass she skimmed the protective grating, to touch the intricate laced ironwork. She was precariously close to the fire. Rios hesitated before positioning one of his boots in between to nudge her away, gently. She didn’t look up from the book but he noted how her lips curled just a fraction. She set her toes against him instead, pressing back.

He smiled. There was no debate there. Nothing unseen. He was all clarity, there.

“That’s not a proper word, Soji.”

“It is in Viveen...”

“ _Not_ part of the Federation.”

Across the room yet another argument was bubbling. This has been going on all night, with Elnor and Soji battling over an increasingly complex vocabulary as they plundered the depths of Federation Standard. It had started simply enough but had quickly devolved until they were hauling out words Rios had never heard of at a dizzying rate. It was less of a gentle and contemplative endeavour and more of an excuse to shoot letters across each other’s bows. Literally. Right now Soji was flicking the square pieces off the table and laughing as Elnor dove to catch them, his loud complaints that she wasn’t adhering to the rules met simply with more laughter. Rios had no intention of playing negotiator; like a reluctant knight he was prepared to step into the conflict if it turned into all out warfare, but until then he would much prefer to sit.

To sit, and if he was being true with himself, to gaze at bare skin, and soft lips. To wallow in pretty distraction.

This was a silent advantage he was taking of her, he knew. He should stop.

Probably.

Agnes turned the page. Somewhere out in the hall a low chime sounded from a grandfather clock. He counted nine, ten... eleven bells. Rios looked at her, and rubbed a hand over his beard. He felt honesty was the best measure here. 

“You do realise I stopped listening a while ago,” he said.

“Oh, I know.” Agnes smiled, her eyes on the book.

“I mean,” he added, quickly, “I’m still listening to you... to your voice. Just not the words.”

She looked up at him.

A letter J pinged against the bookcase, followed by a Y and a K. “Stop it!” cried Elnor. This at last prompted Picard, who had been half asleep on a sofa with the dog at his feet, to haul himself awake and launch into a lecture on good manners and how he would appreciate things not being tossed about willy-nilly in a room full of valuable antiques, thank you very much. To which Elnor sighed loudly and crawled across the floor to retrieve the pieces. 

Meanwhile Rios leaned over to catch her ankle, and lifted the open book from her lap. “You could be reading a laundry list and I would find it fascinating,” he said softly.

He expected her to roll her eyes at this, hopeless as it was, but Agnes stared at him. Her lips parted and he caught a twitch of her fingers as her hands, freed from the pages, dropped into her lap to curl against her thigh. He let his hand slide from her skin and at the same moment she sprang up, arching into an extravagant stretch. 

“Okay, that’s me done!” she said. And before he could say anything she had slipped her shoes back on and was trotting to the door with a wave at the crowd. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Dr Jurati,” replied Soji, in a sing-song voice. 

Rios, ignoring the smirk the young synth was giving him from the table, used the next seven and a half seconds of causal waiting time to gaze with what he hoped was a brooding enough silence into the coals, just to make it perfectly clear that no, he wasn’t about to immediately bolt after her, he wasn’t that predictable... 

Except he was, in every possible way. 

“Good luck with the game, kid.”

He dropped the book on the chair, took an unwieldy step over Elnor, who was still on his hands and knees and now muttering darkly at the floor, and left the room at speed.

It took one wrong turn and two different hallways before he caught up with her. “Agnes.”

She spun around immediately. “Cris, I...” The words disappeared as he backed her gently against the wall and cradled her face, and he kissed her for a long, long moment, until the building need had found a home.

When he could feel her grinning against his lips he broke away.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all day,” he murmured.

“Yeah, I kind of got that.”

“I mean... really wanting to.”

A breath of air and the sweetness of her tongue as she kissed him softly in return. They gazed at each other. “I know,” she said.

With some reluctance Rios stepped back, looking up and down the corridor. Agnes followed his eyes. “I’ve forgotten where the guest rooms are,” he admitted.

“Me, too. This place is like a rabbit warren. With tapestries. And clocks. There are so many clocks here, it’s bizarre.”

He took her hand and started walking with purpose. “Well, don’t worry, I’m an excellent navigator. Perfect internal compass.”

“Oh, really? I’ll tell Enoch you said that when we get back to the ship.”

“Please don’t mention the holograms when I’m trying to lure you to bed. It really ruins my mojo.” Rios stopped, turned once, then back again. With absolutely zero confidence, he pressed forward. “This way.”

“Lure, huh?” She poked his side, taking the opportunity to tuck his rumpled shirt back into his belt. “How scandalous.”

They ascended a short, winding staircase, too narrow to walk side by side. The corridor at the top was decidedly pokey, the walls thick and the brickwork uneven. The ceiling was also much lower. Agnes was fine, but he could only just stand upright. 

“Yeah, this is the wrong way,” said Agnes unhelpfully, plucking a cobweb from her shoulder.

He tried to think back to the hours before, Laris pointing at the views out the window and to _watch that beam, Elnor dear_ as she led them to sunny individual rooms, neatly made beds, soft rugs and old-fashioned bathtubs. It didn’t look anything like here.

Rios tried a door so compact a Ferengi would struggle to get through. Locked. He tried another. Also locked. He turned to Agnes.

“Okay, I give up. You have a go.”

She gave him a look. “That was fast.”

“I am fully prepared to admit my faults and bow to a wiser guide.”

There was a beat as she thought this over. He could almost see the wheels in motion, watching her focused eyes and the way her nose wrinkled slightly. It was quietly irresistible, it was the same feeling that had jabbed him hard when he’d first met her, and it never seemed to stop or get old. He trailed his fingers through hers, waiting.

Decision made, Agnes led them back down the too-narrow stairs, across a landing and yet another corridor, before a sudden recognition clicked and at the same time they exclaimed, “Guest rooms!”

“Okay, mine,” said Rios, quickly, after they had bumped fists like proper nerds.

“Which is?”

He opened the first door, pulling her inside, not bothering to turn on the light. “This one.”

“Are you sure--”

Shuffling backwards, his legs hit the bed. He buckled slightly and pushed himself upright. A quarter moon lit the space faintly; she was already undoing the buttons of his shirt, whatever the question was falling away as he touched his lips to her neck, her collarbone. He cradled his forehead against her, their breaths filling the air with a quiet urgency. “Cris,” said Agnes, after a while, “I really don’t think this is... _Cris_ ” – she paused to let him kiss her again – “I don’t think this is your room.”

Every thought in his head was focused in on what she was doing with her fingers as they travelled ever downward. “Does it matter?” he asked.

There was a moment which seemed to stretch for an age before she murmured something which sounded like _yes_ , followed by a _maybe_ , followed by a decided _no_ , and then she was kissing him fully, allowing him to untie her blouse, to slip the camisole from her shoulders, hands sure and guiding as she tugged at his pants. He felt a sudden shift in happiness, a joyful spike as he let go, taking her lead. He should have done so from the start. Agnes spun around and Rios followed her, the pair of them laughing and tripping around half-shed clothes, and with a happy sigh she kicked the door shut.


	6. Seven breaks the way

There were times, Seven knew, when it was prudent to jump in with weapons raised, to be chaos and rupture. And then there were times when it was better to exist in the shadows. The art of observance was a real thing, always valuable in the long game.

As it happened, this little adventure at the chateau was requiring elements of both.

“Here,” said a very tired-sounding Picard, dumping an enormous dictionary into Raffi’s hands. “Maybe the two of you can negotiate peace in our times, I don’t know. And to be perfectly honest, I don’t care. I’m all out of diplomacy and I’m going to bed. Come on, Number One.” And with that he was gone, dog in tow.

Raffi stared at the doorway. “Well, goodnight to you, too.” 

Meanwhile Seven took in the scene before them. She did her best to extrapolate what had taken place in their absence. The game board had been upended. Letters littered the table and floor. “Has the enemy been neutralised?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” Soji hid a smile. “What do you think, Elnor?” 

A tired mumble came from one of the sofas, where the Romulan was now sprawled, long limbs askew, his face buried in a pile of cushions. 

Soji blinked as if pretending to interpret this, then looked up at Seven. “I’d say well neutralised,” she said. “He will certainly think twice about taking on this adversary again.”

Elnor peeled himself upright. He looked tiredly about the room, eyes narrowed. “He does. He will. What time is it?”

“Getting too late for this one,” sighed Raffi. She hefted the dictionary back into its slot in the vast bookcase. 

“Anyone want some hot chocolate?” asked Soji, getting up. “I’m sure Laris won’t mind me making some.” At Raffi’s look she added, “I won’t make a mess, I promise.”

Elnor made a small noise and collapsed back onto the cushions. “So many messes,” he mumbled. “But yes please, if it’s sweet and will help me sleep.”

Soji looked at them. “No, thank you,” said Seven.

“I’m good, hon.” Raffi shook her head. Soji left the room and Raffi walked over to take Seven by the hand. “I’m kind of ready for bed, anyway,” she said, more than a little pointedly.

Seven looked at Elnor, at his closed eyes. The battle was over, lines had obviously been drawn and a settlement reached. There was nothing left to keep them here. She looked back at Raffi, at the fingers laced through hers. 

She led the way out.

“You remember where to go?” Raffi asked, with a small grin.

“Yes.”

That was true. Seven only needed showing once. The layout of the home, the rooms they had permission to enter, those they did not. She knew where Picard was headed to now, faithful companion at his heels to watch over him in sleep. She would be able to close her eyes in five years time and it would still all be there, the colours of the paint, the creak of the floorboards. The embroidered landscapes, lacquered wood, portraits of distant family, their expressions locked forever in judgement on the walls. Every ticking clock and dusty recess. The feel of Raffi’s hand in hers, knowing that flicker of a tease apparent in her voice would be likewise there in her expression, were she to turn around and confront it. 

Everything observed, and everything remembered. All the good and all the bad. The last, she was resigned to. The first, she was learning to accept.

“Guest rooms,” she announced, when they reached the hall of closed doors in record time.

Raffi grinned, stepped in close, and ghosted a kiss over Seven’s lips. “Want to see mine?”

“As they share the same amenities and features,” said Seven, “then either... or... would be acceptable.”

“Hmm, let’s be bold.” Raffi closed her hand around the handle of the first door, and pushed. Nothing happened. “Huh.”

“What is it?”

“The door’s jammed.” She groaned. “Damn it, my stuff’s in there. I don’t want to wake up Zhaban. D’you think we can...” She twisted the handle.

Seven took a step back. “Allow me.” 

Raffi turned in time to see the xB wind her shoulder back, and to call out, “Honey, no--!” as the door flew open, momentum lurching Seven forward and around the doorframe, her hand flailing at the wall as she hit the lightswitch, to reveal--

Agnes Jurati, eyes as wide as dinner plates, staring at them open mouthed for two whole seconds. It was clearly two seconds longer than any of them were prepared for, as with a high-pitched “ _Whatthefuck!_ ” she yanked the sheet up to her chin with one hand and hauled the pillow from underneath her companion with the other, smashing it over her face with a muffled squeak.

Raffi held herself still for another breath before she, too, quietly exploded. 

“For god’s sake, Cris, you couldn’t make it to your own room _two doors down?"_

Ignoring the anguished noises coming from the pillow next to him, Rios propped himself up on one arm and scratched the back of his head blearily. “Well, you know, they all look the same.”

That went down about as well as expected. “No, no, you are _not_ getting your smart ass away with this,” said Raffi, gesturing widely to the room. “You’re going to pick up these clothes and get! Right now!” She glared at him and crossed her arms. “I’m waiting.”

There was a long pause. Rios’s eyes gleamed. “Okay, Raf.” 

Having already seen the way these two acted around each other in the pursuit of oneupmanship, Seven had a good sense of how the rest of this scene was going to play out. It was a curious, if predictable spectacle: _Pectoralis major, rectus abdominis,_ she noted, looking the captain of La Sirena over as he drew the bedding back inch by dramatic inch. _External obliques--_

Raffi whipped around to face the door. “Right, change of plan!” she declared when it became apparent her friend had not a stitch on. Why this would come as any sort of surprise was unclear to Seven; logically, given the time and place, they had clearly interrupted a somewhat lingering phase of post-coitus resolution. “We’re taking your room instead. C’mon, babe.” She grabbed her bag from a chair in the corner and began to tug Seven away. 

Addressing her words to the pillow and the woman still underneath it, Seven said, in a neutral voice, “Based on observations I have made it appears you have done well in selecting a compatible partner for intimacy and every such happiness. Please enjoy what remains of the night.”

“ _Yes I’m very proud now please go away please_ ,” came the muffled reply. Seven nodded, her gaze flickering to Rios, noting while he’d been more or less impervious to everything Raffi had thrown his way, this from Agnes at last rendered a flush of blood across his face. How odd, she reasoned, the strange contradictions of men.

She followed Raffi, jangling the door handle on her way out. It was only slightly broken. “I will apologise to Zhaban first thing in the morning and assist with any repairs.”

“Great,” yawned Rios, from the bed. “Turn the light off.”

Raffi waited for the eight steps it took to get to her newly assigned room before she threw her bag down and let out a long, frustrated groan.

“ _Why_ is this night happening? Why am I surrounded by beardy idiots?”

Seven watched as she turned in several tight circles, obviously having difficulty in finding a place for her frustration. “For all we know, Dr Jurati was the instigator in this room stealing endeavour,” she said calmly.

“Miss sunshine and sweet ol’ murder? Oh, yes, it’s always the quiet ones, I bet he loves that, her... god damn it! Stop making me talk about other people’s sex lives! Make me talk about my own.”

Here Raffi ceased the endless spinning and nudged against Seven, immediately transfixed with her jacket and the careful removing of it. A few seconds into this, though, her eyes fell onto the bag on the floor. 

“I should throw that out the window,” she muttered, picking it up with one hand. “He can go fish his socks out from between the vines.”

Seven carefully extracted the strap from her fingers. “How about I just place it at their door. And when I come back, you can finish... this.” She stroked the hand from where it was still pressed to her side, a feather touch from wrist to elbow, up to her shoulder and neck. Raffi’s eyes closed and a smile pulled at her lips. She let out a slow breath and let Seven go.

Lights out, some time later as the house settled around them and with the distant chirping of insects outside, Seven lay in the dark and touched Raffi with the observant eyes of one who had discovered the newness of a thing she didn’t yet have the words for, only the knowledge that she wanted to keep it. 

She continued to listen, awake and wondering. 

At some point footsteps could be heard in the hall, soft patterings and thumps as the others made their way, finally, to bed. There were creaking floorboards, steps approaching then stopping. Then Elnor, who had no concept of an indoor voice: “Why is Captain Rios’s bag out here in the hall? I’ll knock on his door and give it to him.” Followed by a hurried whisper from Soji, “ _Leave it, Elnor. Go to bed._ ” 

Several doors opened and closed. Then, at last, nothing. Seven kissed Raffi again and murmured her thanks to the shining sweet mess of curls on the pillow beside her. She let the quiet that remained lull them to rest.


	7. Zhaban mends in circles

It rained overnight. A window had been left ajar just a fraction when they went to bed and when Zhaban opened his eyes at around four, it was to the sound of an insect chorus and the slowing patter of droplets against the glass. He turned to Laris – she was deeply gone, her face buried into the pillow – before rolling onto his back to blink into the darkened room, pondering whether it was worth chasing some sleep in the time left before sunrise.

(That quick look to check, it was all instinctual, every bit, carried over from a much different life, when each morning of every day he would tick off a list in his head of the important things, knowing where she was (there) and how she was (okay, loved). That fact that no, there were no eyes on them now, no threat they couldn’t see, mattered very little. He kept his habits as he kept his life. This was a house with secrets, but they were old and tied to a family name and the vines and a history and lineage that wasn’t theirs, though somehow, now, they were left as its protectors. 

So they patched holes and stood sentry in their unassuming clothes, with phasers hidden beneath the china cabinets. It was what they did.) 

Earlier, he and Laris had sat up and pondered the state of the house, at the sequence of odd distant sounds as the guests made their way to bed. 

“Well, there goes... something,” said Laris, wincing at a particularly sharp thud. She looked over. “The Fenris woman, you think? She had that look in her eye of someone who’d not stand anything in her way”

Zhaban rubbed his eyes and sighed. “I don’t know. Let’s leave that mystery for tomorrow.” 

They were a strange lot, he thought. Forced together by chance, and he could see now that having been given the opportunity to return to their former situations they’d obviously made a decision to remain as a group, and so had given in to the bonds that had formed, like new strong roots in the ground, all meeting in different ways and all tied with Picard. 

“I have missed it here, I won’t lie, Zhaban.” Last night he’d caught the Admiral on the way to bed, Number One panting happily at his heels. They shared a look and when Zhaban asked if he needed anything, Picard shook his head with an odd smile.

“No, I have everything...”

With his face angled away and with the closing door, to Zhaban’s ears it had sounded like everyone. Perhaps he meant both.

He thought to the day that lay ahead. There was a breakfast for seven. Seeing what fresh and tasty things could be wrapped up for them to take back to supplement what was apparently a functional but limited replicator menu on that speed freighter. During Picard’s absence Zhaban and Laris had cooked for one another, and some morning the messes were exuberant, indulgent... nothing had really lapsed, of course, but they always did better with a routine, and for a long time the three of them had been it. 

Then had come Dahj, to make three into four. And suddenly it all went rightways and wrongways and there were Dr Jurati’s hands on that pulse rifle, her face turned into shock in the confusion and melee. And then they were gone, to leave the housekeepers holding the keys, to wonder if any of them would make it back. 

Maybe that was how it would be from now on. Go to the stars, come back a day, go again, to chase all that they couldn’t see. In the quiet life and the years alone, while the harvest circled again and around him, Picard had walked the rows with his stick and gathered questions in his head which Zhaban knew, given the chance now, and these people he had found, the old man would no longer keep to himself.

He had the means and the motivation, a brisker step in his walk. And it was a bitter happiness Zhaban felt because the time the admiral had lost in between meant he might be running now, towards risk, to make it up. 

Zhaban would rather in a hundred years have that worry, though, if it meant Picard was happy. He was, at that. 

Laris turned over. He looked at her hand, facing outwards, the lines on her skin. He listened to her soft breaths and decided getting up could wait, for now.


	8. Soji counts to twelve

Soji Asha hadn’t really liked eggs until she discovered, on this day and morning, how well they could be made by a Romulan who was descended from Tal Shiar agents and who had lived in a French chateau for many years. Maybe it was all that butter. Maybe it was the confused and harried group of chickens having been chased like a Snakehead diving in after a Kaplan F17 through a wormhole around the grounds by one very happy dog. Who knew. But she could easily have devoured more than the small serving she helped herself to.

Everyone was quiet, busy eating, and in some cases, still trying to wake up. She sat between Raffi, who appeared to be on a singular mission to drown herself in coffee and toast, and Elnor, who was having his own quiet battle with a grapefruit and the oddly shaped utensil which went with it. 

She listened to the sounds, all of them soft and with purpose; the clink of knifes, a roll being taken from a basket. Agnes hiding a yawn behind her hand. 

“So,” said Picard. He was playing mother with a teapot the size of a small moon. “Did we all sleep well? Survive the night in the creaking manor?”

Suddenly a pip flew off the side of Elnor’s spoon. They watched as it ricocheted off the bowl of sugar cubes and into Rios’s hair. A dark, unblinking stare made its way down the table.

“Really, _hermano?_ ”

As the captain picked out the offending missile, Soji sighed, gave in to her desires, and heaped another portion of eggs onto her plate. Surely she was made of better stuff than these half-asleep organics. She could handle all of this _and_ another hunk of brioche...

“Yes,” said Seven in a clear voice, turning to Picard. “Very well.”

“It’s a lovely home,” added Agnes quickly. “A lovely, big home, with lovely... bedspreads.”

Soji didn’t miss the expression that flickered over Rios’s face. Neither, it seemed, did Elnor, who stopped burrowing into the citrus to look around with eyes narrowed. He dropped the spoon with a sudden clatter, pointed first to one end of the table, and then in a sweeping motion, to the other.

“You two had intimate relations, several times! And _you_ two had intimate relations, several times!”

Raffi spluttered coffee into her cup just as Agnes choked on a mouthful of croissant. Laris, who was hovering with a jug of orange juice, waited for the dying noises to subside before she handed a napkin to the doctor.

“I see this one has been showing you all the delights of Absolute Candour,” she said with a slight smile. “How’re you finding that, then?”

“Mm, like joy unending,” said Rios dryly, patting Agnes on the back. He swept up pastry flakes from the tablecloth and deposited them on her plate.

“But my room was in the middle,” said Elnor, still trying to establish his case. “And I have excellent hearing. And I _didn’t_ sleep well, which was the question you asked.”

Soji saw an opportunity to pounce and took it. “Me, too. Super hearing, really.” She pasted on a pained expression, ignoring the daggers Raffi was aiming at her. “It was kind of a rough night.”

“Oh god,” said Agnes quietly.

Seven, meanwhile, looked into her cup. “This coffee is excellent.” 

“Please, help yourself,” said Picard, rattling the teacups hastily. 

Things died down eventually after that briefly revealing exchange. Agnes poured herself a cup of tea and chatted quietly to the admiral. Elnor gave up his fight with the grapefruit and followed Zhaban outside. Rios got up to retrieve a PADD, came back and swapped seats with Seven, so he and Raffi could go through a list of items they were hoping to scrounge from the nearest reclamation station before La Sirena’s docking window ended. 

Dishes and plates were moved away, the coffee pot refilled for those that remained. Soji drank the rest of her _chocolat chaud_ slowly, watching from the end of the table. She felt someone by her shoulder.

“All good?” asked Laris.

She nodded. 

The Romulan looked her over, a gentle patience in her eyes. “Can I show you something?” 

Through several connecting room they walked down a long hallway, lined with framed photographs. Laris stopped at a closed door.

“Does Admiral Picard have trouble keeping track of time?” asked Soji, looking around. At Laris’s quizzical look, she said, “There are... a lot of clocks here.”

“There are lots of many things here, my girl, more than there are people to appreciate them.”

They entered the room. It was Picard’s study, the real one. Soji felt a moment of sudden familiarity mixed with disconnect, feeling as if she could turn and open the door to see the deck of their ship.

A flash of sunlight as Laris opened the shutters. “He was unsure whether to show you this himself,” she said. She put two hands on Soji’s shoulders and turned her away from the view outside, and in a softer voice, “No, not out there... this.”

The painting was high on the wall behind the wide desk. Thick brushstrokes in a whirl of greys and dark blue. A figure wrapped in a cloak, face half turned as if their name had been breathed into the storm. She had of course seen this in the holosuite recreation, had even looked at it sometimes, or not looked at it, depending on her mood and her need to remember, but... 

“It’s a copy. The real one he keeps locked away, like a lot of things.” Laris trailed off, gazing around her. She touched a hand to Soji’s arm. “Stay as long as you want. He’s a fuss and altogether too precious about this space, but I know he won’t mind. You just stand up and set him right if he does.”

Soji looked into her sister’s eyes. A jolt of something took itself through her and she wanted to cry. She didn’t know what it was. She folded her arms around herself. 

“I already do,” she said.

There was a taste of chocolate in her mouth, breakfast and teasing and plans, something the figure in the inky dark might have known and been a part of if she were here, too. Soji swallowed and turned away, listening to the voices outside; Elnor, distantly, then Picard and Zhaban, a brief argument ending in laughter; and she counted her breaths, in _onetwo_ , out _threefour_ , to the quiet ticking room.


	9. Picard goes home

He woke partway through a dream. It wasn’t a particularly nice one, beginning with the usual sensations of gravity melting away and metal parts replacing one body for another, before segueing somehow into an argument with Rios about having a turbolift installed on his tiny freighter and whether or not it should play Klingon musak during the single floor trip, and when Picard peeled his eyes open he saw that half of the bedding had slid onto the floor in a tangled heap. 

He sat up slowly, trying to catch his thoughts and forget the worst of it. It worked, sort of. The most profound assurance he could come up with was to tell himself _I’m here_ , over and again. 

Which was true, if a little obvious. He really needed to develop some nuance to these calming thoughts. 

He wiped a hand over his eyes, the movement catching Number One’s attention, who sat up with a whine and poked his nose on the edge of the bed, eyes shining.

“Did I wake you, boy? I’m so sorry.”

Picard opened the shutters. The pale uncoloured light promised an overcast day and he dressed slowly, luxuriating in having a wardrobe again.

“Come on, Number One. Let’s see what we can find.”

Breakfast was a mostly civil affair, apart from Elnor’s succinct but rather descriptive recount into the night’s activities. Which Picard ought to have predicted, really, given the propensity of his companions these days to leave him half-shocked and half-amused and wanting quite sincerely to be somewhere else, somewhere quiet and on his own... while at the same time realising he couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt so incredibly at peace. 

Dr Jurati poured a cup of earl grey, looking him over with a shyly considered expression. “Thank you for letting us stay,” she said, as the others peeled away from the table. “I genuinely mean that. And sorry about before, we weren’t being _too_ glib, I promise.”

Picard smiled. “I know that. I’m getting used to you all running around me in circles. Around each other. You’re like a pack of pups let out into the grass to eat daisies and dig holes, before taking to the sky to fly into dark, new waters.”

“With you at the helm, of course, sir.” 

“With me at the _something_ , which is farther at the back and in a comfortable chair, I’m afraid.”

Raffi spoke up from the other end of the table. “Hey, JL, what’s your opinion on retired Type 15s?”

“That the ones sitting in reclamation yards have ended up there for a reason, and quite frankly anyone who gets in one has a death wish painted across their forehead. Why?”

“Cris wants two of ‘em. These come as a pair. Just a little charring on the hull, and the deflector shields need a major upgrade, but nothing a greasy rag won’t fix. This guy wants to shift them today.”

Rios grabbed the PADD back and glared at Raffi. “Piss off. I’m not going after anything but essentials.” He glanced at Picard and Agnes, the look on his face telling them that was only partly true.

Picard crossed his arms and leaned back a little. “Well, far be it for me to tell a ship’s captain what to do with supplementing his assets, but I’m not sure fleet expansion is the best endeavour right now.”

“Yes, two large shuttlepods, where would they go, exactly?” wondered Agnes. “One of the draws in the med-lab? The holosuite perhaps? You’d have to shift that enormous desk of course, Admiral.” 

“Well, we all make sacrifices,” said Picard.

Rios stood up with a grunt. “Okay, whatever. I’m going to get our stuff.” He took up the PADD and walked away, tapping Agnes’s shoulder on his way past. She sipped her tea, smiling.

After a moment or two Picard got up as well. He wandered into the courtyard. It was chilly out, a good day to be leaving. Bright skies and sunshine might have made this harder. 

He found Zhaban poking around a row of pots. 

“It’s looking wonderful,” he said, feeling somewhat at a loss at what to say.

The Romulan turned, gave a slight shrug. “This place? It looks after itself, really. I’m just here to fix door handles.”

Picard grimaced. “Yes, I heard there was an incident... I completely apologise, of course.”

“Ah, it’s all good. Your Seven of Nine has already looked me in the eye several times this morning and fairly demanded I accept her statement of regret. She’s kind of intense. Good luck keeping that one contained on your next little adventure.” Zhaban smiled, his voice trailing off. “Actually, that goes for all of them.”

Back in the quiet of his room Picard packed his bag and spent a good ten minutes stroking Number One’s head, while the dog panted softly.

“Hey, JL.”

He looked up as Raffi edged in, pulling absently at the end of one of her thick braids. “We’re all ready, kinda, well...”

“Waiting for the old man?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to put it that way. Except, I guess, I just did.” She knelt and made a face at the dog, leaning back with a grimace when a lick got over-exuberant. 

Picard shook his head. “You go on, Raffi. I’ll catch up.”

Maybe it was a mistake to have so short a stay, he thought. He felt exhausted at the fact that he was saying goodbye again after just getting over the arrival. 

In the kitchen Laris looked him over without saying a word. Her fingers touched the sleeve of his jacket, her eyes drifting from an unreadable emotion to even practicality, sizing him up against the outside, to what lay beyond the walk to the gate. 

“Warm enough?” she asked, as Number One whined and circled around his legs.

He wasn’t sure when he’d be back, and he told her just that. “But I will. I promise.”

Laris nodded. She hauled a basket off the table as Elnor walked in. “Ah, perfect timing, I need a pack mule,” she said, tucking it in his arms. The young Romulan grunted under the weight. 

“Is this all the cheese in La Barre?” asked Picard. He examined a jar of apricots. 

“Not quite, but close.”

He hugged her quickly, before the urge left him. She did well not to appear too shocked.

The others were already halfway down the long drive when he made his way outside. At the front was Soji, who had a long stick and was tracing patterns idly in the gravel. These were being immediately erased by Seven and Raffi as they walked in a slightly distracted step behind her, arms loose around one another. A few paces back came Rios, bag slung over one shoulder as he used the other to nudge Agnes off balance playfully. Her laughter rang through the air, making Raffi turn with a grin.

Elnor, who had begun thrumming with impatience and the heavy load he was carrying, started walking after the others. His entire face lit up when he saw that Number One was following him. He looked back to Picard and said, “You are lucky to have a second home.”

Picard thought how he’d left this place to go after a small, bright truth, in a world where he had waning influence, all while heavily misguided and clinging on to his old assumptions. Now he had the freedom to leave and the ability to return. And Elnor was right.

Why, then, did he hesitate?

It was like the dream. These things always were. He stopped the sharp edge of his thoughts before they threatened to cut, and looked up to find Laris’s eyes on him, briefly, before she glanced away.

He examined her profile, the angled brows and bow of her lips, glad that he could see her like this. 

A piercing whistle sounded out across the grounds. Rios dropped his fingers and held his arms up questioningly. Picard rubbed his forehead and sighed a little, preparing something in his head, some excuse for his housekeeper, one of the few people who’d seen him at his loneliest. He didn’t know what, maybe it was an assurance that he was going to be okay. That they would be okay. That there was even a _they_ to speak of was not the first thing that pointed to how he was adapting, and living again, and it would not be the last. 

But Laris only laughed.

“I think they’re waiting for you,” she said.


End file.
